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Shavash Day came on a cold October morning. Stumbling to the window, I saw people already lining the grey streets, dressed in drab traditional attire, or the Red and Grey of the Caraghian flag. Something that struck me, even from the window, was that nobody looked happy. They all just stood, waiting without anticipation, listening to the music without clapping their hands.
--Written by Alexander Saxton.
Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation.
The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w.
Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
By The Wrong Station4.7
627627 ratings
Shavash Day came on a cold October morning. Stumbling to the window, I saw people already lining the grey streets, dressed in drab traditional attire, or the Red and Grey of the Caraghian flag. Something that struck me, even from the window, was that nobody looked happy. They all just stood, waiting without anticipation, listening to the music without clapping their hands.
--Written by Alexander Saxton.
Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation.
The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w.
Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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